Poetry
Seasonal Simulacra (Continued) But just sometimes in the Winter the murmurs faint - And I have to listen for the echoes through yesteryears gate - Then, if I'm lucky and it's not already too late - I can travel back to recapture a feeling and place That where with a spiritual take, metamorphosing should provide me a date - Though I'm as lonely as a cloud when I eventually obeit - For the further I wonder from the dead world and space The ever more hollow and futile life's race.
Continuum So beginning, it's from my place in line, of trivial significance, where soon forgotten, to die, so only human I'm whisked through a worm hole, not the sleep from my eyes - Before by brilliance, in a whisper rush, my heart starts to sigh My eyes have twice opened, and are now opening more wide Are these the first, it's so early, I haven't seen, I was blind - I sincerely do love you, even though for the first time - I was far too busy dying to embrace what is fine A virgin symphony of splendour, gently rocking my mind Dew drops sparkle the kiss of daffodils golden Their low laid clouds form new horizons Sublime to my utter depths To where, now in miniature, a golden sea still dawning By chance, or accompaniment, but by an endless stream of sustenance But the crocus, like me, through a worm hole, from the very same place of existence We're still standing at the port hole, but looking out to the distance Part of the same perpetuity, never forgotten, never fading The stream my blood, my blood the stream, and never more vivid "red" - Infinite of its parts, my heartfelt dream, to feel I belong instead - Spring, - my hearts re-starter, and with the seasons sprung I'm led The manifestation of the need for rebirth, and the chorus by which I'm fed And the magic window on dreams, all past, all future, where again my "child" is met The smile, embrace, and promise given, in the wake of a yearlong breath Its message, for an entirely new beginning, and that renewal need never end The magic water hole for souls, that for as long as they're still filling Remain young enough to mend There's something there of incantation, but that must bring this to an end